


pearls and precious stones

by mariahlee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 06:18:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/647491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariahlee/pseuds/mariahlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Recovery takes time, and relationships can change over the course of a summer. After being released by Chris Argent, Erica and Boyd flee Beacon Hills, determined to start a new life elsewhere. However, they run headfirst into something that they didn’t quite expect, and Erica begins to learn more about herself and who she can become: an alpha of her own pack. Meanwhile, in the aftermath of Scott and Allison breaking up, Scott and Stiles realize that they may not be able to simply remain best friends as they help Isaac search for Erica and Boyd.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pearls and precious stones

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to geckoholic for being wonderful and looking this over and for her wonderful suggestions :) Also, LOTS of love to my wonderful artist for this challenge, pantyrock; I couldn't have asked for a better artist, truly <3 Her beautiful art can be found [here.](http://pantyrock.livejournal.com/674.html)

_It’s cold._

Erica’s not sure if it’s because her fear is almost overwhelming, the thought of her impending death (and worse, Boyd’s) is enough to choke her, or if it’s the aftermath of their torture at Allison’s grandfather’s hands - she can see her breath in the dark, and yet she doesn’t let herself shudder. 

Boyd’s own breath is heavy, but she can still imagine every contour of his body as he pants, his heaving chest, his teeth buried in his bottom lip. His firm body under her fingertips, warm, comforting. She reaches out and takes his hand; he clutches her tightly - no doubt if they were both human, she’d be gritting her teeth in pain, but now, it’s all she wants.

For the first time since her transformation, here in the forest with Boyd by her side as they listen to the howls, she feels - she feels like -

When she was six, and had her first seizure.

She tasted blood, then ran her tongue over her teeth. She had just lost a tooth the previous week and it bled like crazy so she was probably losing another one.

Then she didn’t remember anything for the next hour. The first thing Erica did remember was smelling urine; mortified, she realized it was hers, and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying hard not to cry.

Laying there on the stretcher, her mom holding her hand, was the worst moment of her life. She felt _weak_. Helpless. Pathetic. She never wanted to feel like that again, ever.

“How many are there?” Erica hisses, shaking off the thoughts.

“No idea,” Boyd whispers back at her, calm as always. 

Erica doesn’t remember who makes the first move, but the next thing she knows, she’s digging her claws in someone’s neck, eliciting a howl. Boyd’s back is pressed against hers, ever watchful, and they move in tandem.

“Two to your left,” Boyd mutters, and she spins, ducks, kicking right at the werewolf’s knee. He goes down but rolls on his back, baring his teeth. Boyd grabs her elbow and pulls her down; another set of teeth nearly clamps on her shoulder. She spits out a curse, her body still dragging, still too heavy. Boyd struggles to get back to his feet beside her, but he manages, and he stands over her, shoulders slightly slumped.

There’s a shriek of laughter, ugly, piercing, and Erica winces at the sound; Boyd goes flying, and he grunts when he hits a tree trunk. Enraged, Erica rolls to her knees and pushes herself up; clawing out, she strikes almost blindly, and suddenly there’s hot liquid trailing down her forearm and the smell of copper fills her nostrils.

A gurgling sound, but she doesn’t take it in; she makes a fist, takes hold of something, and yanks. Tumbling to her feet with the movement, she looks up, blinking: a head rolls in front of her, blood all over its face, eyes shut. Erica looks at her fist.

_She ripped a werewolf’s throat out. She’s holding someone’s throat._

Her mouth is dry. Her skin is tingling.

Suddenly, there’s hot, stinking breath on her neck, claws digging into her biceps; she tenses her body, ready to spring, but suddenly she realizes that the werewolf isn’t attacking her; she’s sniffing her. When she listens carefully, the sounds of battle have stopped - the other werewolves are stock still now, not in fear or shock: simply waiting. Erica keeps herself still as well, curious, but also aware that something is happening beyond a simple fight now, and it’s wise to take recon.

“Huh,” the werewolf breathes into Erica’s ear, and to her surprise, she’s released. Flat on her face in the dirt, she turns slightly, listening. She can’t make it out, but whispers dance all around her, an argument, maybe, she can’t think straight.

_”we can’t -”_

_“we have to -”_

_“fine fine fine let’s go, hurry up -”_

She’s tugged to her feet; she knows it’s Boyd simply by the touch. “Come on,” he hisses in her ear, and they’re running - stumbling the whole way, but running. It doesn’t sound like they’re being followed, but they run until they have no breath, until their legs give out and they collapse. 

“So that pack is out,” Boyd says when he gets his breath back, and a desperate, pathetic laugh slips out of Erica’s mouth. She can taste blood on her tongue, and she doesn’t know if it’s hers or one of the other werewolves’.

One of the other werewolves’. She killed someone. She _killed_ someone. Looking down, she sees her hand, red with guilt, and she sucks in a noisy breath. Boyd sits next to her and takes her hand, rubbing his thumb across her palm.

“You had to,” he says simply, but for once, his voice brings no comfort. She never wanted this. 

She’s trying to remember what she wanted in the first place.

*

_When she was nine, she swore she’d never fall in love._

Seemed like it would be pretty easy, after all. Nobody even spared her a glance. Stringy hair, baggy clothing, a ticking time bomb?

Still, she followed Stiles Stilinski around like a sick puppy. Not like he noticed; he was too busy with Scott, whispering at their shared lunch table in the cafeteria, snickering to themselves at their lockers. Like all best friends do (but she wouldn’t know, would she?). What she did know was that it was a lost cause and yet she couldn’t help it.

When she becomes beautiful, she laughs, imagining how the boys will be falling all over _her_ now. Now they’ll feel exactly how she did all of those years. They can’t touch her anymore. They’ll trail after her and she’ll keep her head high. Now she has what she’s always wanted: a chance to choose.

She knew taking the bite was romanticized. Derek made it sound like all of her problems would go away, and sure, many did, but she was also presented with more choices than she’d like. Choices she never thought she’d have to make. After training with Derek and the others, she’d return home, a secret caught low in her throat every time she sat down at the dinner table with her parents. Her mother was pleased at the change in Erica, relieved, even. After all, nobody wants an ugly, broken child.

The only really good, consistent thing in her life is Boyd. After their first full moon, they sit together, tired in ways that transcended physicality. Boyd brushes her hair away from her face, right where Derek’s ‘headband’ had rested. There’s a strange look on his face, and he suddenly pulls his hand away, clearing his throat.

“You okay?” he says.

“Always,” she says, her forehead burning. She pats his leg. “You?”

“Yeah,” Boyd says. He shrugs. “Derek’s methods weren’t too effective, were they?”

Erica winks at him. “Or we’re stronger than he thought.” Still, she understands what Boyd’s saying, and she bites her lip. She figured Derek would have had it all figured out, being the alpha, but - “It’s all right,” she says instead. “We’ll know now for next time.”

Boyd nods at her, but says nothing further.

The first time Boyd comes home with her, it wasn’t even planned. Most nights they’d walk together and Boyd would stay at the end of her driveway until she disappeared inside, a tiny smile on his face as he lifted a hand in good-bye. Tonight, though, he walks to her door, a silent question in his eyes, and she smiles at him in return, ushering him inside. Her mother raises an eyebrow but greets Boyd, and she subtly slips out of the living room upstairs. Probably pleased that her daughter actually brought someone home. Boyd may be the first person who’s ever come over, and that’s a thought that would normally bring tears to her eyes. Now, though? Now, all she can feel is excited. Anxious, yes, a little nervous, but excited.

They sit on the couch; it’s a little awkward. He sits on one end, her at the other, watching some movie on the satellite that her mother insisted they needed.

“Your mom’s nice,” Boyd says like he had to force it out.

“Yeah,” Erica says, biting her tongue; Boyd has never been one for small talk, but now it seems like it’s all he has. Not that she knows exactly what to say, either, so they sit in silence. It’s not uncomfortable; it’s comforting, although Erica wants more, but she doesn’t know what to say, so they simply watch the rest of the movie before he excuses himself.

He doesn’t come back in again until a few days later, and this time, he sits closer to her on the couch, his hand brushing hers. She flexes her fingers in invitation, and he takes them.

It’s almost like a date. Her first one, and it’s in her living room. Somehow, it’s perfect. His hand is a little sweaty and she laughs to herself, thinking about how Boyd could face werewolves and full moons with a squared stance, but holding her hand makes him nervous.

The first time they kiss is on a Friday night, after a lacrosse game. He sat next to her on the bleachers, his weight warm and familiar, his thigh perfectly aligned against hers. She doesn’t pay too much attention to the game besides keeping her eyes trained on Isaac, her packmate; she doesn’t even have to think about how she follows each of his steps, ready to protect him if need be, even though she knows that it’s only a game. It’s already ingrained, instinctual.

Isaac grins at them as they leave the field, another victory painted on the scoreboard, and Erica and Boyd wait for him to shower and change. Boyd’s quiet tonight but he doesn’t look uneasy; on the contrary, his face is relaxed, stance loose. There’s a little curl to his lip that only she sees, just the smallest hint of a smile, and she’s never loved him more.

Without saying anything, she steps in front of him and takes the front of his shirt in her fist. He looks down at her, unsurprised, unrattled, and he brushes her hair away from her face.

“Hey,” he says. That’s all. That’s all he needs to say.

She tugs him down and kisses him, slowly, softly; it takes a moment for him to respond but when he does, she almost slides to the ground. He slides one hand through her hair and his other hand splays across the small of her back, holding her upright. One hand still fisted in his shirt, the other trails to his hip, letting her thumb drift under his shirt to caress bare skin.

He doesn’t release her until they hear Isaac cat-calling, and even then Erica doesn’t let go. She glares over Boyd’s shoulder as Isaac waggles his eyebrows, and he cheekily offers to leave them alone to finish their business. Erica bares teeth while Boyd snorts, but somehow it’s not awkward. Isaac simply laughs again and waves a hand, hoisting his bag over his shoulder as he walks away.

The next time Boyd comes over, it’s after their second full moon. Things may have gone over more smoothly this time, but she still feels wrung out, and they don’t say anything the entire walk home. Without a thought, they fall into her bed and sleep. When she wakes up, Boyd is already awake, watching her, trailing a finger down her nose, as if he’s memorizing her face. Before she can say anything, Boyd tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear and kisses her. It’s not overly sexual, but more intimate.

“Will your dad kill me if he finds me in here?” Boyd mutters, pressing his face against her neck.

“Probably,” Erica says. “But I’m pretty sure you’ll be safe as I doubt he’ll come in here.”

Now, feeling Boyd still trembling slightly from being strung up like meat by Gerard, only to run headfirst into a fight, she sighs. The little, innocent moments between them are probably gone - remembering how just a few days ago, she was dreaming at the possibilities of escaping with him, and with Isaac, how they could rebuild themselves and move on with each other. What the three of them could accomplish - they could do anything, she was certain.

What an innocent, little naive girl she was. There’s blood on her hands that will never wash out.

*

They keeping moving because she gets antsy staying in one spot for too long. She feels bad because she knows Boyd will follow her anywhere, but she can’t stop. The sense of discomfort, of being where they shouldn’t be, hasn’t left her alone for one brief moment. They sleep, curled together; most of the time one of them is awake, watching the other’s back. Constantly aware that the other pack is still out there somewhere.

“What do you want to do?” Boyd asks a few days later, one leg over her thigh. “Do you want to look for another pack?”

This pack experience obviously dampered her spirits a little. She was foolish to think that they could just find another pack and be welcomed with opened arms. And yet -

“I want to go back,” Erica says finally, gritting her teeth. “Eventually.”

Boyd simply looks at her. “Why?”

She jerks her head toward him. “ _Why_? Because we’ve got unfinished business, that’s why. She doesn’t deserve - she - I’m going to -”

“Hold on,” Boyd interrupts. “You want to kill Allison?”

“I didn’t say kill,” Erica says, but she looks away. The image of Boyd falling, arrows stuck in his chest, still fills her with rage. “But she can’t -” she stops. “Not just her. The Argents. They can’t - they can’t be around. They can’t stay there and take charge of our town, all right? They _can’t._ Not after what they did.”

The blazing look in Allison’s eyes, passionate and yet strangely blank, has remained in Erica’s mind’s eye ever since. “She _can’t_ ,” she repeats. “They want to kill all of us. What else should we do to protect ourselves?”

“Mr. Argent let us go,” Boyd says. His voice is steady, nonaccusing; he’s simply stating a fact. “He saw that what Gerard did was wrong. What do you think he’s going to do if we kill his daughter?”

Erica sighs, leaning her head back until it’s against Boyd’s collarbone. He tightens his grip on her in response. “I know,” she says. “But can we trust her to follow her father’s path? Can _you_?”

Boyd stays quiet for a few minutes. “All right,” he says. “How do you want to go about it?”

“We go back,” Erica says. “Find the other werewolves and get them out of Beacon Hills. Nobody is safe while the Argents are there. We may have Allison’s dad as an ally - sort of - but we can’t predict the behavior of anyone else. It’s so deeply ingrained in that family, it’s not going to be easy to purge it. So unless you want to kill the whole family...”

“I’d rather not,” Boyd says, lifting a shoulder. “Too much work.”

Erica can’t help but grin. “We can still send a message. A message to stop hunting werewolves. Leave the life.”

“A message,” Boyd repeats. He cracks his knuckles. “I think we can do that.”

Erica crinkles her nose. “Maybe not like that,” she says. “I’ve learned that psychological warfare is much more damaging.”

Boyd pauses, looks down. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, it is.”

Erica bites her bottom lip. “Boyd -”

Boyd shakes his head. “What do you want to do?”

Erica wants to continue, but she lets it slide. “We find Allison,” she says. “And we threaten to kill her father. With her mother being lost to werewolves, I doubt she’ll want to lose her father to them, too.” Even she is shocked at the words that slip out of her mouth.

Boyd doesn’t say so, but Erica knows him well enough to understand that he doesn’t agree with that plan. “Do you want to make her more angry at us?”

Erica blows out a breath, frustrated. “I don’t know, okay? I don’t know. I just feel - I’m - I’m weak, Boyd. I’m too weak. My body is pathetic, it gives in so easily -”

“ _You are not weak_ ,” Boyd hisses. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

Erica rolls her eyes. “You’re just saying that because I’m your -”

“Have I ever said anything I didn’t mean?” Boyd interrupts. “Ever? Have I ever lied to you about anything?”

Erica stares back at him. “No.”

“Okay,” Boyd says. “Okay. Then I don’t want to hear any more of that bullshit.”

Erica lays stock still. “Okay,” she echoes.

“Damn it,” Boyd sighs. He steps closer to her, pulls on a strand of her hair. She automatically wraps her arms around him, playfully tugging on his shirt with her teeth. He trembles slightly at the touch. “So we go back.”

“Uh huh.”

“Not back to Derek,” Boyd says. “On our own. Or we can figure something out with Scott and Isaac. Especially Isaac, we don’t leave him behind. Derek’s a mess; it’s not wise to stay with him.”

“And Allison?”

“Leave her,” Boyd says. “For now. We can keep an eye on her, and if things don’t change - if she doesn’t change, we can consider future action.”

“And our alpha?”

Boyd’s silent, just breathing quietly against her hair.

“You can’t be serious.”

She feels Boyd’s lips curl.

“Me?”

A nod.

“I can’t be an alpha.”

“Why not?”

“Because - it’s _me._ ”

“So? I’d follow you.”

Erica huffs out a laugh. “I’d have a follower of one. We’d be a fearsome pack.”

Boyd sighs. “I’m telling you, you’d have more than that. Scott isn’t interested in being an alpha. Neither is Isaac. You might not think so, but you’ve got that quality.” He pauses. “You’re not a pack without an alpha.”

“Come on,” Erica says. “You really believe that?”

He simply looks back at her.

Erica wants to laugh; she possesses no such quality. Boyd is blinded by his feelings for her. “Okay. Say we don’t do anything about the Argents. Say we go back and innocently think we can make this work. That we can form our own pack and live peaceably. Is there anything to even go back to?”

Boyd’s quiet for a moment. “Only one way to find out.”

*

They start traveling the next morning. They’ve been moving so often that it’s almost hard to remember, but she tracks themselves backward, using her nose to track Boyd’s own scent.

Three hours in, Boyd stops. “Wait,” he says abruptly, taking her elbow. “Hear that?”

Erica halts her steps. She never would have heard it before, but now she can just hear the slightest crunching of leaves. She inhales, taking in the scent of another werewolf. Judging by Boyd’s face, he senses the same thing.

“Fight?” he says, and she bites her lip. It smells like just one. They can take one.

_She doesn’t want to take even one, but she knows that it might be easier now._

The wolf is on her before she can even blink; she’s still very young, after all, and horribly trained - this wolf’s clearly skillful, quick. It’s hard to anticipate the movements, and one blast to the face sends Boyd sprawling. It’s all too familiar, frighteningly familiar, but she’s not going to live in fear any longer. She growls under her breath and crouches, rolling out of the way as the wolf turns her way, and she kicks the back of his thigh. There’s an exhale of breath, but it doesn’t take the wolf down. Erica curses, Boyd leaping right next to her again; she smells his blood.

She’s going to kill this fucker. She’ll kill anyone who touches him.

The wolf roars and leaps at them again, but he’s intercepted; his body, broken and bloody, flies across the forest and hits a tree, sliding down its trunk. When Erica blinks, she sees the wolf’s head, decapitated, and it falls to the side, arms and legs limp. Erica stares, then steels herself again, sliding in front of Boyd.

Erica can barely see in the dark, but she watches as the person holds up his hands in submission.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, voice low but non-threatening. “I’m a friend.”

“Right,” Erica hears herself say. “A friend, huh?”

“You know Derek?”

Erica tries not to let the surprise show on her face. “Excuse me?”

The guy smiles at her. “I can smell him on you. On both of you,” he adds, looking at Boyd. “Are you his pack?”

Erica and Boyd remain silent, but the guy takes no offense.

“I’m a friend of Derek’s,” he says, still smiling. “Name’s Jacob. What are you two doing out here on your own?”

They stay silent, eying him warily.

Jacob doesn’t seem offended. “If you don’t mind,” he says, “can we get out of here? I can’t say it’s exactly safe, you know.”

Boyd doesn’t say anything, but distrust nearly sings from his tense pose; she understands, because she feels the same way.

“How do we know we can trust you?” she says.

Jacob looks at her, then looks at the werewolf’s dead body. “That’s one reason,” he says. Then he reaches behind him and pulls out a knife. Beside her, Boyd growls, but Jacob puts the knife down and kicks it their way. “There’s another,” he says. “You’re armed, I’m not. Now, how ‘bout it?”

“Where’s your pack?” Erica stalls, looking around.

Jacob shrugs. “No pack.”

Erica’s curious. “And that works for you?”

Jacob shrugs. “Has so far.” He looks them over. “Someone attacked you. And not those that attacked you earlier today.”

Erica looks up in surprise.

“Come on,” Jacob laughs. “You really thought I’d believe that two betas would leave their pack just because?”

“Well, we weren’t overly fond of it to begin with,” Erica mutters.

“You need an alpha,” Jacob insists. “You can be that alpha. I can tell. I can help train you. I understand the need for retribution. Are you interested?”

Erica shrugs helplessly, looking at Boyd. He doesn’t say anything, just lifts an eyebrow. “I don’t know what I want,” she says carefully.

_I want to live long enough to get my license._

“The best way to live,” Jacob says, as if he read her mind, “is to train yourself. Trust yourself. You can’t trust anybody else to protect your life. The best way to protect your life is to make sure you’re capable of defending yourself. I can give you that. I can give you that, and send you on your way. At no price.”

“You’d do it out of the kindness of your heart, huh?” Erica asks warily.

“I’m doing it because I wanted a pack, once,” Jacob says. “Didn’t - didn’t really work out. Don’t get me wrong; I’ve made it fine on my own, but sometimes - sometimes I think about it. You two? You’re not made to live like this.” He looks around. “And you won’t survive long around here without some damn good training, which I can give you. If you don’t like it, you’ll be free to leave at any time. Keep the knife.” 

Erica doesn’t say anything for a moment. “All right,” she says, a little flitter of excitement at the thought of a competent alpha. At her becoming a competent alpha who can protect her own. She takes Boyd’s hand; after a moment, he squeezes hers. “Show me what you can do.”

*

Jacob lives about a mile west, in a small shack that, despite its dreary, outward appearance, looks comfortable and well-lived in. The grass is worn down in the back; Erica can nearly see footprints lodged in the dirt.

“So were you an alpha?” Erica presses, taking in the weapons hanging on the wall.

“Nah,” Jacob says, his eyes following Erica’s gaze. “Wasn’t really for me. We went through a hell of a lot of alphas, though. Couldn’t really find one to stick, and people started to lose faith.”

“Looks like you did, too,” Boyd says. Erica can’t interpret the tone of his voice.

“I did,” Jacob says honestly. “We ended up turning on each other, couldn’t trust each other. Why would you stay in such a group? Look at you two, after all. You’re not as jaded as me, looks like, and I don’t want you to be. I can show you what I know.”

Erica hesitates for a moment. “Do you know of any packs around here?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Jacob says. “Besides the one that attacked you?”

“Not really up for that one,” Erica returns. “You don’t know anything about them?”

“Sorry,” Jacob shrugs. “It’s easier to stick to your own business.”

“Except when it comes to us?” Boyd says.

“Guess so,” Jacob smiles, but Boyd doesn’t reciprocate.

“So what kind of training did you have in mind?” 

“Well, no offense, but it doesn’t look like you’ve been taught much. Even the basics.”

“Like?”

“Sometimes you have to learn to take the high ground. Realize when you can’t win. You run too loudly, see? Any werewolf could hear you coming a mile away. You have to use the tip of your toes, learn how to jump farther.”

He demonstrates, his steps completely silent, his movements quick and efficient.

“But they can still follow you by scent,” Erica points out.

“True: which is why you have to pull a bait and switch,” Jacob says. “Lead them one way, then double-back. By the time they realize their mistake, you’ll have the upperhand, and you can take them out. Your packmate can slip behind them and make a few kills of his own while they’re focused on you.”

Eria bites her lip. “We - we really don’t want to run around killing anyone.”

“I’m not saying that, Erica,” Jacob says. “But one thing you have to realize is when you’re attacked by another pack, they won’t be looking to hurt you. They’ll be looking to kill you. You must adopt that mindset as well, or you’ll be dead before you can blink.”

Erica looks down, not wanting to concede the point.

“Have you never killed another werewolf?”

Erica manages a blank face one second too late, and Jacob notices. “Well,” she says.

“It’s okay, you know,” Jacob says. “I’m not going to judge you for that. You were protecting your own and yourself; there was nothing else you could do.”

“Doesn’t mean I’ll ever like it,” she mumbles.

“You don’t have to. You just have to understand that it’s necessary.”

Erica doesn’t say anything; she simply looks at Boyd, and she thinks maybe, one day, she’ll be able to go through with it without a second thought.

*

Jacob’s shack isn’t much better than sleeping in the woods, but at least it’s some form of shelter. Erica appreciates it tonight as she and Boyd lay together, listening to the rain. Boyd’s especially quiet tonight; the silence presses in all around her.

“What’s been bothering you?” Erica asks, rolling onto her front.

“Nothing,” Boyd says, his hand automatically stroking her hair. 

“Liar.”

Boyd sighs. “I just don’t feel right about this.”

“Why?”

“Just - the way he looks at you. Like he’s sizing you up.”

“That’s kind of the point, isn’t it? He’s supposed to be evaluating my progress.”

“It’s more than that. I can’t explain it, but - it’s more than that.” His hand stills in her hair.

“If you’re open to other suggestions -”

“We leave.”

Erica laughs. “And go where?”

“I don’t know. Home? Like we talked about?”

“They’re still out there,” Erica presses. “The other pack. Boyd, I don’t think we can survive another encounter with them. I need this training; I can’t protect you or me where I’m at now.”

Boyd sighs, but he resumes stroking her hair.

“Something else is bothering you.”

He shrugs.

“ _Boyd._ ” 

“I left you,” Boyd says suddenly, as if the words have been trying to slip out for quite some time.

“What?”

“I left you,” Boyd repeats. “When Allison hit you with that first arrow. I _left._ ”

Erica frowns. “I told you to leave.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Boyd says steadily. “I shouldn’t have left you. I can’t believe I did.”

“You came back,” Erica says in disbelief. “You came back, Boyd. She pelted you with arrows and you didn’t let that stop you.”

“I’m not leaving you ever again,” Boyd says, as if he didn’t hear her speak. “Not ever.”

She sighs, pulling Boyd toward her. “I know. I know.”

*

After their talk, Erica begins to watch Jacob more carefully. She understands Boyd’s distrust, sees how Jacob is sizing her up in a way beyond merely checking her progress, but she can’t quite figure it out. Keeping her concerns to herself, she decides that if these feelings increase in any way, she’ll follow Boyd’s advice and leave.

A few days later, Jacob steps up the training. After Erica and Boyd eat, Jacob throws a knife on the table; it’s not like the one he gave her, and she picks it up, examining it. It’s blunt, and Erica’s skin yields no blood when she runs a finger along the blade.

“What’s this for?” Erica asks.

Jacob pats Boyd’s shoulder. “For slitting his throat.”

Erica’s jaw drops. “ _What_?”

Jacob rolls his eyes. “You just felt the blade; it won’t cut anything. It’s simply practice for sneaking up on someone and guaranteeing a kill.”

Should be using it on _you_ instead, Erica thinks, her cheek twitching. Boyd stares at Jacob with something akin to hatred.

“You can’t use it on me,” Jacob says with that scary ability to read her mind. “I can’t watch you properly if I’m in the simulation itself.”

Boyd grunts, but he stands, giving Erica a significant look. She waits, needing his permission; silently, he heads toward the back of the shack where most of the training has taken place. His shoulders are stiff, a clear indication he still doesn’t agree, but he doesn’t protest outloud.

She doesn’t know if it’s because it’s Boyd, or because this time, she’s actively aiming for the kill, but she finds herself faltering, hesitating, and Boyd easily slips out of her grasp. 

“You’re not fighting hard enough!” Jacob says through gritted teeth. “You’re being too soft; you need to toughen up or you won’t survive.”

“I don’t want to kill anyone,” Erica says just as tightly. “I can train without doing that.”

Jacob scoffs, shaking his head. “Have you not listened to a word I’ve said? And if you come up in a fight against another wolf? A stronger wolf? You really think you’ll be able to take his or her life when you can’t even _pretend_ to kill another werewolf?”

“I did it pretty well with that other pack, wouldn’t you say?” Erica nearly shouts, then slams her mouth closed. She feels sick.

Jacob sneers. “A lucky shot,” he says. “You can’t rely on luck. Ninety-nine percent of the time, you’re dead, get me? _You can’t train for this without knowing that you may have to kill._ You can’t dance around this.”

“All right,” Boyd says. “I think that’s about enough.”

“I appreciate the effort,” Erica says, glad her voice isn’t shaking, “but I think this is where we part ways.” 

“You’re kidding. You’re running, again? Once things start to become a little too real for you?” Jacob makes a sudden move toward her but Erica stands her ground. Boyd’s jaw is so tight that she winces in sympathy pain. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you leave.”

“Excuse me?”

Jacob bares his teeth. “You haven’t fulfilled the plan yet.”

Erica senses rather than sees Boyd suddenly being dragged a few feet within just a moment; the butt of a gun rests against his temple. She stiffens, eyes widening as she realizes that they’re quickly being surrounded, but Boyd shakes his head ever so slightly. She stares into his eyes and nods back, keeping her back straight.

“How many of you are there?” Erica forces out.

“Enough,” Jacob says. “Enough to find Hale, even as he runs like the coward he is.”

Erica feels a slight pang at the name of her former alpha. “What do you want with Derek?” she says, trying to keep attention on her and away from Boyd.

“What we want to do with all alphas,” Jacob says simply. “Kill him. I know that you’re both simply young cubs, but I’m still surprised to hear that you don’t know what happens when one alpha kills another alpha?”

“They become stronger,” Boyd says, his stance completely nonchalant despite the gun held at his head.

Erica turns to look at him in surprise, and Jacob nods approvingly.

“Very good,” he says. “Very good. Erica here may not quite be up to alpha status just yet, but she only has a little longer to go before she’s finished - and you’ve already killed an alpha -” his eyes narrow dangerously - “so you’ll be a great slaughter. As Derek will be.”

Erica curses to herself, really wishing she had some backup right about now. She really wishes that anybody had knew where they were, but they’re truly alone.

“You’re all alphas,” Boyd says. “The ones who attacked us in the beginning. It’s why you let us go, you sensed Erica could be an alpha. Faked killing that alpha to gain our trust.”

“Nah, I killed him,” Jacob says. He gives a shrug. “Didn’t really want to, but he was one of the weaker ones, so it wasn’t a huge loss.”

Scott had the right idea, she thinks to herself ruefully, as Jacob and the others lead her and Boyd through the forest. She’s sentenced both Boyd and herself to death.

*

_Beacon Hills_

Scott thought he’d spend the months that followed the break-up with Allison miserable. That he’d stay in his room all day and ignore everyone - the teenage mopey year, his mother always said. And yet - he’s somehow...okay.

The day after he kisses Allison in her room, Scott goes home, crawls in his bed, and sleeps. He expected to lay awake for a few hours, running things over in his mind, but somehow he drops off easily. Somehow, even though he’s no longer with the girl he loved, he can’t help but think that for the first time in a while, things feel peaceful. He knows that things will end up okay.

He wakes up around ten, feeling well-rested, and crawls out of bed into the shower. Judging by the silence in the house, his mother is already gone. She’s worked late hours for as long as he can remember.

He goes over to Stiles’ house, who, to Scott’s surprise, is still asleep. He hasn’t slept in this late in years - shit, probably a decade at least. His brain was never really wired for sleep unless he had completely worn his body out, and even then Scott knows that Stiles would end up waking up four hours later. So Stiles reads, a lot. Or does stupid shit. Most of which Scott hears about the next day.

At Stiles’ door, Scott shrugs, then opens it and jumps on his bed.

“Ah!” Stiles flails, kicking out and nailing Scott in the knee. Scott simply laughs and rolls off the bed. “What the hell, man? Why would you do that, huh?”

“Yeah, that’s definitely the first time I’ve ever done that.”

Stiles sits up and rubs his eyes. Scott makes a face at the bruises that still cover Stiles’ face. “Yeah, but that was before we’ve started _almost dying_ at least once a week.”

“Whoops,” Scott says. He probably shouldn’t have mauled his best friend so soon after he was jumped. “My bad.”

Stiles grumbles under his breath. “What do you want?”

“You’re such a delight in the morning,” Scott says. “I dunno, figured we could hang out. Go downtown or something.”

“Mm,” Stiles mumbles, but he’s already sliding out of bed. He picks up a t-shirt and jeans that are dangling off his desk chair and gives them a sniff. “Good enough.”

They walk downstairs and Scott pulls a box of Lucky Charms out of the pantry and pours a bowl while Stiles flicks on the TV. They move in and out of each other’s way easily, able to anticipate the other’s movements without thinking.

When Stiles pulls on his hoodie, they head out, wandering down Main Street until they reach the movie theater. Scott can’t remember the last time he’s seen a movie. Done something normal. Stiles doesn’t even ask; he goes up to the ticket counter and buys one for some action movie that Scott has never seen an ad for. They slide into seats near the middle of the theater, behind some other kids from school. Hearing Isaac’s name during their conversation causes Scott to lean forward to listen.

“ - been acting weird lately. Mopey.”

“Well, he was good friends with those two? Saw them hang around a lot, anyway.”

Scott frowns; beside him, Stiles stiffens in his seat.

“Erica’s mom is offering a reward for anyone who knows where she is,” one says. “Really wish I knew, I could use some cash.”

“Wow,” another says, glaring at him. “You’re an asshole, know that?”

Scott feels his face flush; he remembers Allison’s distraught face when she said that she had hurt Boyd and Erica, but to his shame, he never pressed her further on it, as her tone indicated that they ended up being okay. He just couldn’t stand to see that look on her face any longer, couldn’t see her crying and gripping her knees.

 _What_? Scott mouths to Stiles, but he looks away with a shrug. Scott pokes at him.

“Stop,” Stiles mumbles. “Movie’s starting.”

Scott doesn’t really take it in; the conversation about Erica and Isaac may have ceased, but Scott can’t let it go, running over what they said in his mind. Normally, Stiles would make comments that would end up making Scott roll his eyes, but even Stiles is quiet.

“What’s wrong with you?” Scott asks as they step out of the theater; they automatically wince at the bright sun.

“Nothing,” Stiles says, curling his lip in a smirk. He pats Scott on the shoulder and starts heading in the opposite direction.

“Where are you going?”

“Said I’d hang out with Isaac this afternoon,” Stiles throws over his shoulder. “See ya.”

“Right,” Scott says under his breath. He watches Stiles until he disappears around the corner, feeling completely lost.

*

To his credit, Scott manages to wait until that night before he gives Isaac a call.

“Stiles with you?”

“No,” Isaac says. “Was earlier, though. Why?”

“Can I come over?”

“Sure,” Isaac says slowly. “This doesn’t make me feel at all suspicious.”

Scott makes an unflattering sound into the phone before he ends the call.

Isaac’s staying with a family called the Allens: Scott knows nothing about them, as they live more on the outskirts of town. He feels a little guilty that he’s never really asked about them, but he doesn’t know what to say. Isaac’s never brought it up himself, so Scott takes his lead.

Isaac’s room is in the basement, and Scott forgoes the front door in favor of going straight for the downstairs door. It’s frightening how clean the place is, but Scott knows how much Isaac’s father favored cleanliness, and that’s something that will not go away with time.

“Why was Stiles here?”

“What, he didn’t tell you? I thought you guys told each other everything?”

“Tell me _what_?”

Isaac holds up his hands. “He told me that Boyd and Erica left, okay? That they ran.” The look on his face turns ugly, self-deprecating, and his mouth tightens.

Scott steps back, dumbfounded. “How did he know that?”

Isaac’s expression almost turns to pity. “Ah. Well. That part’s not my business. I know what I want to do about it, though, and I’ve been meaning to ask, well - I found something at Derek’s earlier today, and was hoping you -”

“Uh huh,” Scott says, his mind already elsewhere. “Will you excuse me?”

“Are you fucking serious? Did you not hear what I said? You just got here!” Isaac calls after him, but Scott’s already running.

*

“So,” Scott says, jabbing at Stiles’ cheekbone when Stiles answers the door. “Where did you really get this?”

“Ow!” Stiles says, narrowing his eyes. “What the _fuck_ , man? You really need to work on your people skills.”

“Your dad home?” Scott says, pushing his way inside.

“No,” Stiles says, making a face. “Why?”

Scott slams the front door shut behind him. “I had an interesting talk with Isaac just now.”

“Fuck,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes. “Figures he can’t keep his big mouth shut.”

“How did you know that Boyd and Erica had left?”

“Maybe Erica stopped by beforehand; did you know she used to have a huge crush on me?”

Scott sighs. “Why are you lying?”

“I’m not lying, she totally did - she called me Batman.”

“Stiles.”

Stiles shrugs. “It’s not a big deal, really. It doesn’t matter how I know. I just know.”

Scott tugs his hoodie off and throws it on the couch; Stiles watches the movement carefully, frowning. “No getting rid of you, huh?”

“You really piss me off sometimes, you know that?” Scott says, pushing past Stiles to collapse on a cushion.

Stiles huffs out a laugh. “Right back at you, asshole.”

“Look,” Scott begins, “if it’s something that could get you in trouble, don’t worry about it. Do you really think I’ll say anything?”

Stiles shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “I know you wouldn’t.’

“Then why won’t you tell me?”

“Because maybe I’m protecting you, dumbass. Did you think of that?”

Scott frowns. “What are you talking about?”

Stiles rolls his eyes, and Scott’s eyes jump to the bruises on Stiles’ face. He’s not sure how, but he suddenly understands.

“A guy from the other team didn’t beat you up. Who did?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, all right? It’s over.”

Scott’s eyes narrow. _It’s over?_ “Was it Gerard?”

“What? No. That old asshole? You think he could take me?”

“It was, wasn’t it?”

Stiles’ face darkens. “I’m actually offended.”

Scott blows out a breath and leans his head against the back of the couch. “You realize that you can’t lie to me, right? You’re so obvious.”

“Maybe I just let you think that.”

“Okay, I might punch you myself.”

Stiles sighs. He looks somewhat bored, a face that he often wears when any unwanted attention is given his way. “Fine. Yeah, it was him.”

“ _Why_?”

Stiles cocks an eyebrow at him, then winces. “Why do you think? It’s not because of anything about me, man. I’m nobody. You think this was meant to hurt _me_?”

Scott’s hands curl into loose fists. “Old man better be dead.”

“Oh, I hope he choked on his own blood,” Stiles says offhandedly, that bored look still lingering on his face. “Enough people want in on you, man. Be pretty nice to have one of them down.”

Scott doesn’t say anything for a moment.

“You know,” Stiles offers, a lighter tone to his voice. “I told the asshole that you’d find me.”

“You do have an odor,” Scott says, giving him a crooked grin. “You know I would have, right? I would.”

“Even at the bottom of the ocean covered in fecal matter?”

Scott raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know how your mind comes up with this stuff half the time.”

_Of course I would have._

Stiles’ dad comes home then, so Scott heads home. He eats dinner with his mom, but the food is like a rock in his stomach, and he sits, distracted, thinking over ever encounter he had with Gerard. How easily he was able to stab Scott in front of the hospital, how easily he was able to take Stiles right from the lacrosse field, surrounded by people. Again, as he does the dishes, he thinks about how Gerard should suffer, and after he’s done, he finds himself pulling out some of his and Stiles’ favorite movies. He drags his blanket and pillow from his bedroom and throws them on the floor, already comfortable in sweatpants and a t-shirt.

“Stiles coming over again?” his mom asks. 

“Dunno,” Scott says, stretching out his legs.

His mom takes in the living room with a skeptical eye. “Uh huh. Didn’t you just see him an hour ago?”

“Yep.”

“Then how did -” she throws up exasperated hands when the doorbell rings. “Good _grief_ , how do you two do that?”

“Dunno,” Scott repeats, grinning at her, and she shakes her head before heading back into the kitchen.

“Jeez,” Stiles says when Scott opens the door, dropping his bag to the floor. Scott sees the handle of a toothbrush sticking out of the front pouch. “Is it sleepover night?”

“No,” Scott’s mom shouts from the kitchen. “Well, only if you slobs clean up after yourselves.”

“Right,” Stiles says, kicking his shoes off. Scott only winces slightly when one hits the bedside lamp; it nearly topples over before it settles.

“Look, kid Stilinski,” Scott’s mom says, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “If I come back to just one kernel of popcorn embedded in my carpet -”

“ - he’ll eat it off the floor,” Scott says, waving her off. “You’re going to be late, _go._ ”

Scott’s mom ignores Stiles’ indignant mumbling and kisses her son’s temple. “Be good, boys,” she says. “Or not.”

Stiles pretends to trip her, but she easily jumps over his outstretched leg, the typical antics anticipated like clockwork. Scott hides a grin when his mom taps Stiles’ nose; Stiles scrunches up his face, but Scott knows he’s secretly pleased.

Stiles never talks about his mom dying, just like Scott almost never talks about his dad leaving. Granted, Scott doesn’t remember his dad all that much; the asshole had clean walked out when he was six, and he’s found a more capable father figure in Sheriff Stilinski, but it still burns. Scott felt guilty about grieving, because his mom was the one who deserved to mourn, not him. He was just a kid. In the weeks after, she smiled at him, trying to grasp even the tiniest bit of levity, but it never reached her eyes, and he could hear her crying in her bed late at night.

Those nights, Stiles would come over. He’d talk more than ever, to make up for Scott’s reticence, and Scott would lay on his back and smile. He didn’t even have to know what Stiles was talking about. It didn’t matter. Just Stiles’ voice was enough.

More often than not, Stiles would end up falling asleep in Scott’s bed, even though Scott’s mother made up the guest room. Scott would wake up in the middle of the night, Stiles’ face pressed against Scott’s neck.

They never thought anything of it. They’re best friends, after all.

Scott preferred to spend the night at Stiles’, though. His mom let them stay up later, and she’d even have omelets made for them by the time they stumbled downstairs. They’d lay around in pajamas until three in the afternoon, sharing the same blanket. Stiles was nice and warm, soft.

Until Stiles’ mom died when he was ten. Scott didn’t know what to do, so he stayed away for a few days, feeling like an intruder on grief. A week after, Stiles showed up at Scott’s house, eyes hooded, small duffel over his shoulder. This time, Scott was the one who would talk until his voice went hoarse while Stiles chewed on his bottom lip until he drew blood. He’d let Stiles grip his wrist whenever Stiles had a panic attack, talking about sports or music or whatever was in his brain at the moment. Eventually, when Stiles’ breathing slowed, Scott would fall silent, and they’d unconsciously match their breathing until they fell asleep.

Three months after Mrs. Stilinski died, they stopped sharing a bed. Scott can’t remember why, neither of them ever said anything about it - it just happened. For a while ( _several nights weeks months who knows_ ) Scott couldn’t fall asleep for a few hours, tossing and turning, feeling strangely cold. There was no one to talk to in the middle of the night, no sense of comfort that he wasn’t alone. He was just - there. Himself.

“Hello,” Stiles drawls out, waving a hand in front of Scott’s face. “Are you in there? Your mom actually left us money for pizza, or did you choose to ignore that?”

“Get your hand out of my face,” Scott says, kicking at Stiles’ shin. “Of course I heard.”

“Right,” Stiles says. “That’s why you looked like this.” He makes a huge show of glazed eyes and a dropped open mouth.

“Shut up,” Scott mutters. “Or I’ll pocket the money and you can eat popcorn from the carpet.”

Stiles waggles his eyebrows and Scott simply groans. He wants to bring up Gerard again, hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it, but he keeps quiet while Stiles pops the first DVD into the player. They eat until Scott feels like he’s about to puke, and slowly, the darker thoughts drift away.

*

A knock on the door startles Scott awake. He’s sprawled on the floor, on top of his blanket, his pillow a few feet from his head. He frowns at it, wondering how it got there, and thinking about how easy it would be to go to sleep without it, until there’s another knock on the door. Scott hears Stiles mumble and he turns, seeing Stiles plastered on the couch, one leg dangling over the side.

Groaning to himself, Scott pushes himself off the floor and staggers to the door, pulling it open.

“What?” he says before he even sees who it is.

“That’s nice,” Isaac says. “Real nice. Charming greeting.”

Scott stares at him blankly before he steps aside, silently letting Isaac in.

“Is he dead?” Isaac says, looking at Stiles on the couch.

“Don’t think so,” Scott croaks. He blinks. “Pretty sure he’s breathing.”

“Dude, it’s eleven,” Isaac says. “How late were you two up last night?”

“Uh,” Scott says. “I don’t really remember.”

“Go away,” Stiles mumbles into the couch cushion. “You’re ruining the ambiance.”

“If you can say ‘ambiance’, you’re awake enough for everyday conversation,” Isaac says.

Stiles glares at him, manages to get to his feet, and stumbles off to Scott’s bedroom, slamming the door.

“What’s up?” Scott says, trying to wake up a little further.

Isaac rolls his eyes. “Well, you kind of bolted away during our last conversation yesterday, remember? I was actually interested in finishing it.”

Scott frowns to himself.

“ _Erica and Boyd_.”

Scott flinches a little. “Oh, yeah. Sorry. I got - distracted.”

“No shit,” Isaac drawls. “I assume it’s out of the bag?”

“Yeah,” Scott says, running a hand through his hair. “He wasn’t as mad as I thought he was going to be.”

“Terrific,” Isaac says. “Just terrific. So that means I can ask you what I wanted to ask at my place?”

“You want to find them,” Scott says without hesitation.

Isaac nods slightly. “Remember when I asked you for advice?” he says. He shifts his weight. “Back when Erica told me that she and Boyd were leaving? Do you remember what I said?”

“Yeah,” Scott says. “You said that you were going to leave with them. That you had nobody here.”

Isaac stares stonily back. “That’s still true,” he says. “I want to find them. I need to find them.”

“Are they hurt?”

Isaac works his jaw. “Yeah, I think they are,” he says. “You didn’t talk to Stiles?”

“Of course I did,” Scott says, a little offended. “He didn’t tell me anything about Erica and Boyd, though.”

“Right,” Isaac repeats. “Well, he told _me_ that Allison’s grandfather captured them. That Allison hand-delivered them. That Allison’s dad ended up letting them go.”

Scott’s mouth goes dry. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah,” Isaac says, mouth going thin. “Allison hit them with God knows how many arrows. Then they got strung up to wait for God knows what until Allison’s dad let them go. Stiles saw that; he never mentioned it? Allison never told you?”

“Stiles and Allison were going through a lot of their own shit at the moment,” Scott says defensively. He sighs. “If Allison’s dad let them go, then the healing process would have been triggered. They said they were going to leave anyway, right? So they did.”

Isaac rubs his forehead. “I just want to see if I can find them,” he says. “I - I have to know. I need to know they’re okay. And if they still want to leave, then. I’ll figure things out from there.”

Scott gnaws on his bottom lip, frustrated. He feels like he’s finally come to terms with some sort of peace in his life, and now he’s being dragged back in. (He should have known. He really should have known.) “Fine,” Scott says. “Fine. I’ll help.”

Isaac’s grin makes Scott feel a little better about his decision. “Okay,” Isaac says, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “I went by Derek’s, but he wasn’t there. This was on his door, though.” He opens the camera on his phone and shows Scott he picture.

“What the hell is that?” Scott says, squinting at the design. 

“No idea,” Isaac says. “Then I went looking for Derek all over town, but he’s gone, man. He bolted. I’m assuming this is a big reason why, and maybe it has something to do with Erica and Boyd.”

Scott bites his lip, wanting to say that that is a pretty big stretch, but from the look in Isaac’s eyes, he already knows that. “Maybe,” he says instead. “Let me get Stiles up, though. He’s better at this sort of thing than I am.”

Isaac nods, and Scott goes to his room and opens the door without knocking.

“Hey. Stiles.”

“Whaaat,” Stiles draws out, but he turns his head. “Isaac has werewolf stuff he wants us to do, doesn’t he?”

“Yep.”

“‘Course,” Stiles mumbles, but he sits up. “Eh, I’ve been bored, anyway. When you’re not almost dying nearly every day, you really start to miss it.”

He slips into one of Scott’s hoodies; it’s a little loose around the shoulders, and Scott finds that he kind of enjoys the sight. He blinks.

“Anyway,” Scott says. “Isaac took a picture of some design he found on Derek’s door.”

“Where _is_ Derek?” Stiles says, shutting Scott’s door behind him. “I mean, not that I miss him or anything, trust me, but it’s kind of weird that he hasn’t been skulking about everywhere.”

“Skulking?”

“Shut up,” Stiles sighs. “All right, where’s the picture?”

Isaac holds it out, and Stiles stares down at it.

“Derek’s gone,” Scott says. “Like, _gone._ ”

“Really?” Stiles says, interested. “Huh.” He frowns at the picture. “I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this, actually - in one of the books we tore through with the whole kanima shit.”

“Remember what it is?” Isaac says eagerly.

“Nope,” Stiles says. “The book’s definitely at my house, though, so we can go get it. What exactly were you expecting us to do? I thought you didn’t want Derek to be your alpha anymore.”

“I don’t,” Isaac says with a snort. “But Erica and Boyd are still pack.”

“What does this have to do with them?”

“I don’t _know_ , okay? I don’t know if it has anything to do with them at all, but it’s the only possible lead I have.”

“Sure, yeah,” Stiles says. “Just - why did it take you so long to want to look for them? I mean, you knew they were gone right away, you just didn’t know where or why.”

Scott looks at Isaac, also curious.

Isaac’s cheeks flush. “It’s - kind of pathetic, really.”

“I do pathetic,” Stiles says. “I do pathetic extremely well.”

Scott points a finger at Stiles, nodding. “He does. I’m not half bad at it myself, either.”

“He’s worse than me.”

“All right,” Isaac says, laughing. “I guess - you know what they had planned on doing.”

“Get away to find a new pack, yeah,” Stiles nods. 

“I was going to go with them, but when I couldn’t find them, I guess I figured - they left without me? I mean, they’re together, and I’m just - there.”

“I knew it!” Stiles says, and both Isaac and Scott stare at him. “That they were together,” Stiles amends quickly. “Not the other thing.”

Isaac scoffs. “Right. Well, that’s about it, really. I figured they left because they wanted to be on their own. So I didn’t bother. Now that I know otherwise -”

Stiles looks strangely guilty. “Sorry, I should have told you earlier. Guess I was just being selfish - I didn’t want anyone to know how _I_ knew.”

“Hmm,” Isaac says, clearing agreeing with Stiles, judging by the slightly disapproving glance. “Well, I know now, and I have to do something about it.”

Stiles nods. “Okay. That’s fine. We’ll help you if they need help. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Isaac sighs. “I know. I feel like I’ve been useless lately - the Allens haven’t really been liking me getting out as much.”

Scott frowns. “Why?”

“They say I’m getting into too many _suspicious situations_ ,” Isaac says with a shake of the head.

“They don’t -” Scott begins, but Isaac shakes his head again.

“Nah, they’re fine,” he says. “A little weird that they’re so concerned, but they’re fine. They’ve given me a curfew, for crying out loud, but I figure that I can say I’m spending the night at someone’s house, and it’ll be fine.”

Scott and Stiles look at each other briefly, Stiles’ lip twitching: they’ve run that excuse into the ground.

“Okay,” Scott says. “When did you want to look?”

Isaac looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Tomorrow.”

“Sure,” Stiles says. “Bumble into an unknown situation; we’ve never done that before.” He contradicts his sarcasm with an agreeable nod, though, and Scott sighs.

“I can’t just sit around any longer,” Isaac says. “Not when my pack is missing. I figured you’d understand that, Scott.”

Stiles makes a face; he turns away, looking angry, and Scott knows it’s at himself. Still, Isaac’s right, and Isaac did help Scott look for Stiles first and foremost. 

“I’m in,” he says, and Isaac grins. “As long as we find Stiles’ book about that design first, though.”

Isaac looks a little disgruntled, but he agrees. “I’m not sure how much help I can be, though. I’ll need to be at the Allens’ for most of the day if I’m going to be gone most of the weekend. They’ll wonder.”

“Pretty sure Scott and I can handle looking through some books,” Stiles says, waving a hand. 

“Thanks, guys. Seriously.”

“Sure thing,” Scott says. “We’ll call you tonight, okay?”

Isaac nods before he heads outside; Scott waits until he hears the car pull out of the driveway.

“So,” Scott starts, “you never thought to bring up Boyd and Erica during your little stint with Gerard, huh?”

Stiles throws up his hands. “I can’t do anything right, can I?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Look,” Stiles begins with a sigh. “I didn’t want you to - well - know all of what Allison did, okay? I mean, yeah, you guys are broken up now and you’re somehow fine with that, which is beyond my level of stinted social comprehension, and I know you believe that you’re getting back together, so I just. Didn’t want you to know. Didn’t think it would change anything, because she already, well, tried to kill other people and you forgave her for that, so what’s two more?”

“Damn it,” Scott mutters, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hands. “You’ve got to stop with this shielding me thing, okay? It’s really pissing me off. But I kind of get it. Derek bit her mom, you know. You really think that she killed herself because of her history with depression? Something like that would fuck anybody up. I’m not excusing Allison’s behavior, it was wrong, it was messed up, but she knows that and the thought of what she did is eating her up.”

“I know,” Stiles says.

“She needs this summer away from us,” Scott continues. “With her dad, so they can figure things out. I think for the first time, they can actually get on the right path and have a somewhat healthy relationship.”

“Thank you, Doctor McCall,” Stiles says dryly, but the point is made. Allison only has one parent left, just like the two of them, and they can all understand what it does to someone. “All right, time to go to my house. We really need to set up some sort of traveling system, you know. Like air propelling tubes. This going in circles shit is making me dizzy.” 

“Air propelling tubes?”

“Must you repeat everything I say?”

“I don’t know, must I?”

“Jeez,” Stiles says under his breath, going to grab his backpack. “Come on before I slug you. We need to feed my dad, too. If I’m not around, he doesn’t eat. Or he eats nasty ass fried food that’ll clog up his arteries.”

“He’s not your pet gerbil, you know.”

“Thank God for that. I hate gerbils.”

*

Scott hasn’t really appreciated how many books Stiles has until they’re on the floor of his room, all of them half open.

“Have you read all of these?”

“Pretty much,” Stiles says off-handedly. “Most of them several times. That way when I’m older, my brain will be nice and spry. Or is that doing puzzles?”

“Just keep looking,” Scott says, rolling his eyes. Stiles throws a new book at him in response and continues to read.

Three books later, Stiles finally gives a woop. “Found it, asshole. I win.”

“Where?”

Stiles pushes the book Scott’s way. “It’s the mark of an alpha pack,” Stiles says, tapping the page. 

“What’s it doing on Derek’s door?”

“Who knows?” Stiles shrugs. “Maybe they want Derek to join their own pack. Maybe they wanted to challenge him. Maybe they just wanted to do the equivalent of peeing on his property.”

“Nice.”

“Just saying,” Stiles says. He twitches in his seat.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Dude, you look like you popped ten Adderalls.”

“Hey, you’re the one who wants to figure out what happened, aren’t you?” Stiles says. “That’s exactly what I’m doing. God knows you don’t know how to read a book without me.”

“Fine,” Scott says, backing away from the topic. “Fine. So which theory do you like best?”

Stiles eyes him, as if he needs to make sure Scott’s truly leaving it alone. “The second,” he says finally. “If that other pack wanted Derek, they probably would have arranged some sort of meeting, right? Well, if werewolves have meetings. One that doesn’t include maiming or bloodshed, I’d hope. This to me, looks like a challenge. A threat.”

“Okay,” Scott agrees easily. “A challenge for what?”

“Don’t know,” Stiles says, chewing on his bottom lip. “But I bet it’s why Derek ran. Haven’t heard about Peter lately either, have we?” He pretends to shake his head ruefully. “Too bad.”

Scott hums. “So maybe Erica and Boyd ran into this alpha pack. But with them not being alphas -”

“Yeah,” Stiles draws out. “Can’t imagine that would end well, but come on. It’s Erica. Erica’s a badass. And _scary_.” He rubs his chest. “I can see her getting away.”

“So we go look for them.”

“Guess so. Your noob nose up to the challenge?”

“We’ll see, I guess.” Scott frowns, looking at the picture to avoid making eye-contact with Stiles. He can’t let Stiles go with them, not now. His stomach clenches at the thought: an alpha pack? He’s pretty sure that neither he nor Isaac would be able to put up a fight if they managed to run into it, but Stiles would be dead or bitten within seconds. There’s no fucking way Scott would let that happen.

“What’s with you?” Stiles says, peering at Scott’s face.

Scott takes a breath. “You’re staying here.” 

Stiles laughs. “You’re kidding, right? How many times have you told me that and I’ve ignored you?”

“You’ve been - “ Scott stops.

“What?” Stiles demands. “I’ve been what?”

“You’ve been hurt too much already, okay? I can’t protect you if things go south on this one.” _(I’ve proven that.)_

Stiles’ jaw drops. “I haven’t asked for your protection,” he says, lips thinned. “Are you fucking kidding me? I’m not some person in distress that you need to watch over, all right? Fuck, Scott. Fuck you.”

“Right,” Scott says, gritting his teeth. “I’m a horrible person for wanting to make sure you don’t get ripped to shreds. Right. I’m the asshole.”

“You think I’m going to feel like any less of an asshole if you go off by yourself?”

“This is bigger than you,” Scott insists. “These are all supernatural creatures with strength that you can’t possibly match. You’re just -”

“Human,” Stiles says, jutting out his jaw. “Yeah, just human. Worthless, right?”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“I can’t just sit here,” Stiles says, squaring his shoulders. “That’s not who I am, and you know it. You think I don’t know the consequences? You think I don’t get it after being around you since you turned? You think I don’t wonder every day if this’ll be the one when you -” Stiles shakes his head. “When you get into something bigger than you can handle?”

“To be fair,” Scott says, managing a weak grin, “that seems like it’s been every day.”

Stiles stares stonily back at him. “That’s supposed to be funny, huh?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Scott says, digging his fingernails into his thighs.

“I’m coming,” Stiles says.

“ _No._ ”

“Look,” Stiles says, suddenly a lot closer to Scott than he remembers. His jaw is clenched, his eyes hard. “You know how everyone treated me after my mom died? Like I was this fragile little piece of glass who would cry if anyone said the wrong thing? How my dad wanted to pull me out of lacrosse because he worried I’d have a fucking panic attack during a game? You know how much that fucking sucked?”

“Yeah, but -”

“And for the first time since, I feel like I’m past that, all right? Like I can do something worthwhile, even if it’s shit like this. I can take control of my life again. Nobody can tell me what to do. Not even you.”

To Scott’s surprise, there’s a slight smile on Stiles’ face; Scott finds himself tracing every inch of that smile, one that he hasn’t really seen since they were kids and Stiles was trying to kick Scott out of the bed.

“Uh,” Stiles says, and Scott blinks; he’s scooched forward, a movement that he didn’t even notice, another step forward, and his hand is trailing along the side of Stiles’ shirt.

“Right,” Scott says, and he starts to move away, but Stiles grabs the string to Scott’s hoodie and gives a tug. They sit still for a moment, just staring at each other, until Stiles leans in those few extra inches and Scott meets him the rest of the way.

It’s _nothing_ like Allison. Not in a bad way, of course; where Allison was soft yet assertive, giving as much as Scott gave, as if she needed to learn every bit of him, Stiles is more yielding; he already knows Scott, after all. He gives a soft sound of surprise into Scott’s mouth, but Scott chases it back, pushing Stiles down on his back. He’d never really thought about it before, kissing Stiles, but now it seems like it’s been the right thing to do all along. 

To Scott’s frustration, Stiles pulls away; his eyes are wide, pupils blown. “Wait,” he says. “Are you sure this is what you want? You’re not just like, emotionally compromised?”

Scott laughs. “You’re such an idiot,” he says, and he gets to his feet, tugging Stiles to his bed.

*

“I knew from the start that you’d agree to go look for them,” Stiles says an hour later, tracing circles on Scott’s chest. Something he used to do when they were really young and he needed comforting, and the reappearance makes Scott grin so hard his face hurts.

Scott taps Stiles’ thigh in affirmation. “Kind of a weird thing to say when you just blew your best friend, you know. Especially when you’ve never touched a dick besides your own in your life.”

“Yeah, um,” Stiles says. He clears his throat. “I don’t really know what else to say?”

Scott takes in Stiles’ awkward expression; he’s surprised at how laid-back he feels, himself, how easy it was to fall right into this. Still, he can’t help but say: “this isn’t weird, is it?”

“Mm. Maybe. You’re not going to have an existential crisis on me, are you?”

“I don’t think so. Are _you_?”

“Later, probably,” Stiles says, relaxing a bit. “I mean. I still like Lydia.”

“Yeah.”

“And you still love Allison.”

“Yep.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? That’s it?”

Stiles considers. “It is kind of weird, I guess, that I don’t think it’s weird. I just wasn’t sure if you would think it was weird that I didn’t think it was weird. Then again, we’re pretty weird.”

“Say weird one more time.”

“ _Weird._ ”

They lay in silence for a while, taking it in. Scott’s never been one to think about his sexuality, after all - he likes who he likes, and that’s about it. Simple. Stiles has always been the one to overthink it. Still, he decides to humor Stiles and steer away from this conversation to put him more at ease.

“So how did you know I’d agree to help from the start, then?”

Stiles snorts, obviously appreciating the change of subject. “Please. Like you’d sit around without trying to help? You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t running off willy nilly somewhere.”

“Me running off willy nilly. _Me_? And _willy nilly_?”

Stiles shrugs. “Hey, I just follow you. Mainly because you keep getting into trouble. Remember? Remember how nice and quiet things used to be?”

“No. I don’t.”

“I do,” Stiles says, rolling on his back. “I remember sleeping. Sleeping. Eating breakfast. Eating dinner at a typical dinner hour. _Sleeping_ , Scott.”

“Are you kidding? You didn’t sleep before.”

Stiles’ mouth thins. “Right. Well, I could have if I wanted to. Not anymore.”

Scott blows out a breath. He doesn’t want to pick up this topic again, but he can’t help it. “You don’t have to come, you know. I’d rather you didn’t, if you recall.”

“And if you recall, are you serious? You’re my best friend, you asshole. Like I’d let you go out there alone.”

Scott growls in frustration. “You’re not getting hurt over something like this -”

“I know I’m not,” Stiles says, looking unconcerned. “You’ll be there.”

“I don’t know why you think I’m that capable, man. I can’t protect you, it’s not a guarantee -”

“It’s good enough for me. Plus, I like to think that I can just annoy them to death. What I lack in physical prowess -”

Scott snorts.

“ - I make up for in intellect and emotional strength.”

“Is that what you call it?”

“Look,” Stiles sighs, finally growing serious. “We can sit here for hours and argue about this, but you know that if you tried to leave me here, I’d just come after you anyway. So stop being a dumbass, accept it, and focus on getting them back.”

Scott’s lips turn crooked. He turns on his side and throws an arm across Stiles’ stomach. “You’re an idiot. A stupid, death-seeking idiot.”

“Don’t cuddle me, man. Stop. Stop it.”

Scott pinches his side. Stiles gives a perfunctory struggle before he goes flat. It really should be weird, them sharing a bed like this, but right now, it’s only comfortingly familiar. Like when they were younger, Stiles takes up most of the bed, ignoring any concept of personal space, unable to stay still. Unlike Allison, who would lay curled on her side, still, watching him with a smile, as if Scott were the only thing worth watching.

“What makes you think they’ll come back?”

Scott notices the levity of his tone, not even considering to address the possibility that there may be no one to find to bring home.

“They’ll come back.”

“ _How do you know_?”

Scott pinches Stiles’ side again. “That’s why you’re coming. Put your huge fucking mouth hard at work. Maybe you can bring back Erica with your allure.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Scott gives him a cheeky grin. “I’ll protect you, you said so yourself.”

“Right,” Stiles sighs. “I don’t need protection, ass.”

“Yeah, it’s not like Erica threw you in a dumpster or anything.”

“That was one time; it doesn’t count. And that was before I learned of her epic crush on me. You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

“Yep,” Scott says, his hand trailing down Stiles’ leg. “So jealous. Clearly she has a shot at being with you. Not like I can’t touch your dick whenever I want now.”

“We can - uh - talk about official business in the morning, right?”

Scott’s already rolled on top of Stiles and bitten Stiles’ bottom lip.

“Good.”

*

“Scott!” his mother calls, and Scott blinks awake.

“Shit,” he mumbles, poking Stiles’ shoulder. “My mom’s home.”

“Don’t care,” Stiles says, rolling on his other side.

“Scott!” she calls again.

“All right!” Scott shouts back. “Hold on a sec.”

“Is Stiles here?” she says, her voice close enough that he can tell she’s outside his door. “His bag is in the living room, but he’s not in the guest room.”

“Uh,” Scott says. “He might be?”

A slight pause. “He’s in there?”

“Uh,” Scott says. “Maybe?”

Another pause. “Okay,” his mother says, sounding a little confused. “Well, I’m making pancakes if you want some. You want pancakes?”

“Yes,” Stiles grumbles; Scott isn’t entirely sure he’s awake.

“Yes,” Scott echoes, and his mother simply taps on his door and walks away. “I think we’ve scared her a little now.”

“Cool,” Stiles says. He rolls on his other side. “When have we not done that? Get me up when the pancakes are ready.”

“Should I - should I tell her?”

“Nah,” Stiles mumbles. “She’ll figure it out eventually.”

Scott sighs, then shakes it off. “Come on, we’re leaving right after breakfast.”

“Ugh,” Stiles groans. “Right. Okay. Ten minutes and I’ll be ready to get up.”

“You are the absolute worst in the morning,” Scott says, plastering himself against Stiles’ back. Stiles groans and flails a bit, but he gives up. 

“I said don’t cuddle me,” he mumbles. “You’re hot. And heavy.”

Scott flicks Stiles’ earlobe; it’s one of the few things that makes him twitch. True to form, Stiles makes a face.

“Stop.”

Scott flicks it again.

“ _Stop._ ”

Scott blows on the nape of his neck.

“I am going to rip your balls off and then burn them in fire.”

“That would hurt you just as much as it would me.”

“I don’t need your balls for -”

“Got a few pancakes ready!” his mother calls. “If you want them, anyway.” There’s a slight snicker.

“Your mom is gross,” Stiles mumbles, but he rolls on his back, blinking his eyes open. 

Scott makes a face. “I’d rather not think about her while I’m in bed with you, if you don’t mind.” 

Stiles makes an unflattering sound. “So we’re really going to find Erica and Boyd in two days? Not just find them, but make it back home? After convincing them to come back?”

“Yup. What, you think it’s going to be hard or something?”

Stiles sighs. “Thank fuck for pancakes, at least.”

*

Isaac knocks on the door when Stiles still has half a pancake left.

“Hold on!” he calls out.

“Come on, asshole!”

Scott’s mom raises an eyebrow. 

“It’s a compliment, really,” Stiles tells her while Scott grabs his arm. Stiles manages to reach out and snag the last bit of his pancake and shove it in his mouth.

“You’re so sexy when you do that, you know?”

Stiles raises his middle finger while he chews, and Isaac shakes his head when they grab their backpacks.

“I don’t get pancakes?”

“Nope,” Stiles says, nearly stumbling over his unlaced shoe. Scott automatically reaches out to grab him, his fingers wrapping around Stiles’ wrist, and Stiles grins up at him. “Thanks, buddy.”

“No problem, guy.”

They snort, and Scott holds on for a few extra seconds.

Isaac looks back and forth between them, an eyebrow raised. “All right, what happened with you two?”

Scott can feel himself blush. “Nothing,” he says, gripping the straps on his pack. “Let’s go, eh?”

*

“Will you slow up, please?”

Scott slows, turning around. He’s actually pretty impressed; they’ve gone a good five hours without a complaint from Stiles. “Keep up!”

“You’re too fucking fast,” Stiles pants, resting his hands on his knees. “Can you give me a second?”

“Okay,” Scott says, sitting on his heels. “We can take a second. Did you want one of your snacks?” He smirks.

Stiles bristles. “Excuse me for thinking of basic bodily needs. I’m still growing, I need nutrients.”

“You haven’t grown in two years.”

Stiles makes a face at him.

Isaac looks back and forth between them. “How do either of you ever get anything done?”

“Fantastic question,” Stiles says. “I’m the brains, he’s the brawn. Not sure what you’re going to be, though.”

“The attractive one, clearly.”

“No, that’s Boyd,” Stiles says. “And Erica, too. You can be the faithful sidekick.”

“Thanks a lot,” Scott says.

Stiles grins at him and holds up a snack. “Granola bar?”

Scott sighs but takes it; he’s already getting a headache.

*

Instead of Jacob’s old shack, Erica and Boyd are led into a mansion that reminds Erica a little of Derek’s house. She still can’t believe Derek ran - if that’s really why he’s gone, anyway. The familiarity of the place is certainly not comforting, and the itch to bolt is stronger than ever. Still, she’s very aware that they’re outnumbered, and the sight of Boyd being shoved into a tiny cage, so tiny that he has to kneel, his legs bent, makes her grit her teeth in anger. There’s electricity around it to keep him at bay, and he glares through the bars.

“I’m going to kill you,” Erica says calmly, but she feels the rage continuing to build in her chest. 

“Of course,” Jacob says back, waving his hand at her. “I’m sure it’ll be great, too. A miracle, really. Now, should we get back to training?”

“You’ve got to be kidding if you think I’m going to do that.”

“Then you sentence your boyfriend to death,” Jacob says, all pretense gone. “He looks pretty tough; I wonder how long he’d last while we carved him to pieces?”

No way that happens under Erica’s watch. Maybe if she does continue to train, she can become strong enough to get them out of there. Or at least give someone more time to find them, if anyone is even looking.

“Fine,” she says, her mouth so thin that the word is almost illegible. Boyd starts to say something from his cage but she throws him a look. He shuts his mouth, but his eyes are hard.

“Let’s see how quickly you’re healing now,” Jacob says, leading her to a room in the back. He lifts a knife off the wall and runs a finger along it, blood bubbling as he drags it across his skin. He doesn’t wince, just holds up his hand, and within three seconds it’s gone. “You haven’t been healing as quickly as I’d like - it’s a little embarrassing, actually. A full twenty seconds for a small cut like this?”

He throws her the knife; she catches it with ease.

“Go on.”

Jaw clenched, she wraps her hand around the knife, and the pain comes - it’s more subdued this time, and when she looks down, she watches as the wound knits itself shut.

“Not bad,” Jacob says. “Eight seconds. Much better. I see now what we have to do in order to keep you focused, huh?”

Holding the knife, Erica imagines throwing it straight through his skull, his eyes wide with shock as he dies.

And he is going to die. She’s going to make sure of that. 

*

This session is the most brutal she’s had so far. Jacob goes on to break her ankle, rip open her forearm, and slice her hip. She heals, but more slowly as time goes on, and by the end she’s exhausted. Still, she remains upright, carefully not looking at Jacob, straining to keep that poker face.

“We’ll try again tomorrow,” Jacob says, sounding bored. “You’ve still got a long way to go before you’re anywhere close to where you should be.”

She stays quiet as he leads her back to Boyd’s room, shutting the door behind her. A few of the alphas chatter outside of their door, obviously guarding them, but Erica reasons that she could break through one of the walls - not that she’d get very far, most likely, and even if she got out, she’d be getting out alone. 

Boyd obviously has been having similar thoughts. He’s trembling: she can tell that his muscles must be screaming in pain from the position he was forced into. 

“Go, Erica,” he hisses. “What are you waiting for?”

“Seriously? Don’t you remember what you said?” Erica says. “Remember when you said you would never leave me? Why the hell do you think I’m going to leave you?”

Boyd shakes his head, but she continues before he can say anything.

“You’re many things, but a hypocrite is not one of them. If you make one more comment about how I should leave, I will lose all respect for you. It’s insulting. Get me?”

“Yeah,” Boyd says. He sighs. “Still don’t like it, though.”

“Too bad,” she throws back. She lifts a shoulder. “Plus, I like to think I’m pretty decent in a fight now. You think I can take them?”

Boyd manages a snort.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. But you know what? We die together,” Erica says. She gives him a smile, a genuine smile. “I die with you. Every single time I would be given a choice to either leave you or die with you, I will always choose you.”

*

Around midnight, Stiles finally croaks out another _stop_ and sinks to the ground.

“Holy shit,” he pants. “Should have gone ahead and taken the bite, because you guys are too fucking fast.”

“Not funny,” Scott says, glaring at him, but he sits down, too. “We can rest for a bit.”

“Or we can leave him here and go on ourselves,” Isaac says.

Scott turns his glare on Isaac. “Look, we’re a little tired, too,” he says. “And if Erica and Boyd are with that alpha pack, we’re going to need everything we’ve got to get them out.”

Isaac doesn’t say anything, but he sits down, too. “Just a few hours, okay?”

“Whatever,” Stiles mumbles, already tipping over on his side. His face is smushed against Scott’s thigh. Scott carefully palms the back of his head.

“Huh,” Isaac says.

“What?”

Isaac shrugs. “Guess I see one reason why you’re not interested in being with a pack.”

Scott snorts. “You’re not going to say something corny like ‘because you’ve already got one’?”

Isaac stares at him. “Does that look like something I’d say?”

“...I don’t know?”

Luckily, Isaac ignores this. “You can sleep if you want. I’m not really tired.”

“You sure?”

Isaac nods, then turns away. “I’ll wake you in a few hours.”

Scott hesitates, but finally he slides down until he’s on his back; Stiles wraps his arms around Scott’s leg, muttering. 

“Sure,” Scott says, letting his eyes fall shut.

*

Isaac lets them sleep for four hours before he tugs them upright again; Stiles groans but he starts running with them again. 

“We should have gotten those eagles from _Lord of the Rings_ ,” he pants. “Could have just flown right in.”

“You know, I never got why they didn’t just do that in the books,” Isaac says.

“Are you serious? Don’t you remember the _Great Eye of Sauron_? It would have seen them flying in.”

“Well, yeah, but - couldn’t they have flown in until they reached Mordor’s border and walk the rest of the way?”

“But -” Stiles starts.

“Are you both fucking serious?” Scott says, giving them identical looks of incredulity.

Isaac looks slightly chagrined, but that doesn’t stop him and Stiles from bickering every now and then the rest of the way - _a good six more hours._

“Wait,” Scott finally says, stopping. “I can smell them.”

“Yeah?” Stiles says, tilting his own head, as if he’ll somehow be able to catch their scent, too. He reaches out and places a cautious hand on Scott’s shoulder. “Are they alone?”

“Nope,” Isaac says, eyes narrowing.

“Ah,” Stiles says. “Great. That’s just great. Although at least we know now they’re still alive.”

“Right,” Scott says. “You stay here, Isaac and I are going -”

“Oh, no no,” Stiles says. He pats his side. “I’m going, too.”

“What? What did you bring? Is that - when did you even learn how to use - ”

“Yep,” Stiles says, pulling out a gun. He stares at the barrel. “I know it won’t kill them, but I can slow them down at least, while you find Erica and Boyd and get them out of there.”

“And how will _you_ get out of there?”

“Please,” Stiles huffs as if he’s offended. “I’m spry, man. I’m motherfucking Batman. And do you really think leaving me out here on my own is any safer than going in there?”

“Good point,” Isaac says. “You’d be destroyed in about five seconds, Stiles.”

“Thanks for the support.”

“No problem,” Isaac says.

“All right, fine,” Scott says, glaring at both of them. “Isaac and I go in first -”

“Wait,” Isaac interrupts, holding up a hand. “Shouldn’t Stiles be bait? I mean, they’ve probably smelled us by now, and we’d need a distraction. A delicious little morsel.”

“Excuse me -” Stiles says hotly. “A fucking _morsel_?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Scott says. At Stiles’ glare, he quickly amends: “about them smelling us already.”

“Fine,” Stiles says, putting his gun back along his side. “I can be bait. I’m really good at being bait. I probably smell awesome.”

“Not really,” Isaac says.

“Yes,” Scott says at the same time. They eye each other.

“How _do_ we get anything done?” Stiles asks, then shrugs it off. “Never mind. Okay, I’m going in. Ready?”

“Wait,” Scott hisses, but Stiles is already moving, walking halfway bent. Normally Scott would tell him that walking like that doesn’t make him invisible, but he figures now isn’t the time. He allows Stiles to get close to the house’s front door before he follows, Isaac on his tail. Nodding his head at Isaac toward the left, he goes right, mouth slightly dry. If anything goes wrong, it’s going to be his fucking fault. Even the thought of making it back to tell Sheriff Stilinski that his entire family is gone is -

No. He’s not thinking like that. 

To nobody’s surprise, Stiles simply bounds up the front porch and knocks on the door. Isaac rolls his eyes while Scott winces, holding his breath. 

“Hi,” Stiles says when a short girl with dark hair answers the door. “I was interested in becoming part of your group, and was wondering what sort of benefits were included?”

The girl stares back at him like Stiles is the biggest idiot she’s ever met (which, Scott reasons, is pretty valid). “Excuse me?”

“I’m not sure how much clearer I could say it?”

While the girl continues to stare, Isaac starts to creep alongside the house, leaning up just enough to peer through a window. He looks back at Scott, shakes his head, and proceeds to the next one. 

By now, the girl has walked out on the porch and grabbed the front of Stiles’ shirt. She pulls him forward and sniffs his neck, frowning. Stiles shudders.

“Tickles,” he explains while Isaac makes it to the second window. He looks at Scott again and nods this time, his face tight with anger.

“Human,” the girl says, her eyes narrowed. “How did you know about this place? How did you get here?”

“Well,” Stiles says, turning around. “They told me about it -”

She comes outside a bit further, taking her own look, which allows Scott to give her a solid hit to the forehead. She crumples to the ground.

“It worked,” Stiles says, sounding surprised.

“Shut up,” Scott hisses. “We got _one._ ”

“Right,” Stiles says, and he reaches over to knock on the door again.

Scott’s jaw drops. “What the hell are you -”

“Shh!” Stiles whispers, waving him back. “Go again.”

Scott ducks down when he hears footsteps; it’s two wolves this time, and Isaac, taking notice, slips to Stiles’ other side.

“What the fuck -” one wolf begins when he sees his packmate unconscious on the floor, but Isaac’s on him before he can finish. Stiles kicks at the other wolf’s legs, taking him down, while Scott hits him in the forehead with his knee.

“Drag them,” Scott whispers, and he grabs one of them by the forearms and pulls him until he’s out of sight. 

“Yeah, this is brilliant,” Stiles whispers back. “Maybe we can create an alpha domino effect?”

Isaac curses, then sprints to the second window, giving it a tap. To Scott’s surprise, he gives a howl that sounds more like a holler: a challenge. Scott grabs the back of Stiles’ shirt and tugs him down. Three werewolves, now transformed, charge out of the front door; Isaac gives another shout and takes off, his legs stretching out, ears lengthening, and the group disappears from sight.

“Wait -” Stiles begins, but Scott shakes his head, pushing him down. “Stay here,” he says, and even he is a little taken aback by the tone of his voice. Stiles glares up at him, but he stays still, and Scott tears for the front door.

The house feels empty - almost. He sniffs, then sprints for the corner room, kicking the door open.

Erica stares back at him, her face nearly translucent. “Scott?” she says, incredulous.

Scott’s gaze narrows in on Boyd crouching in a tiny cage, and waves of fury flood his veins. He almost misses the huff of breath on his neck, but Erica lunges, shielding Scott and throwing him in the corner of the room. Scott rolls on his back and springs to his heels, seeing the other wolf that tried to slide in, unnoticed.

It’s an alpha, Scott notices immediately. An alpha like all of the others, of course, but this one has a smell that Scott can’t quite place. He follows Erica’s lead, baring his teeth, but the alpha simply looks back at them, confused.

“You said you didn’t have a pack,” he says, eyes narrowed. 

“I don’t understand the obsession with this ‘pack’ thing, really,” Scott hears, and Stiles is in the doorway, holding a crowbar, and with an effortless swing, he knocks the alpha flat on his face.

“I mean, really,” Stiles says into the silence. “It’s a little pathetic, you know? Kind of draws your focus away from the more important things and all.”

Erica takes a knife off the wall; when she looks at it, her lip curls, and her hand runs along the blade. 

“I don’t think your healing will be so effective on this one,” she says, and with one swift move, with Jacob lying on the floor, she slits his throat.

“Whoa,” Stiles says. “Damn, Erica. That was pretty badass.”

Erica stares down at his body for a moment before she asks, in an even tone that sends chills down Scott’s spine, “Where’s Boyd?”

“I can go get him,” Scott says, wondering if Erica is actually even listening. When she finally does look up, her eyes are scarily blank.

“No,” she says. “Let me.”

*

Scott heads outside to give Erica and Boyd a minute, his mind running over how Boyd could barely walk, wondering how long he was in that cage. Erica had stepped in front of him and held him up, whispering something in his ear that made him grin. 

“Everyone peaced the fuck out pretty quickly, huh?”

“Guess so,” Scott says. He makes a face. “When was the last time someone said that? _Peaced the fuck out_?”

“Dunno,” Stiles says; he looks somewhat pleased with himself. “I can’t believe we’re not dead.”

“It is a plus,” Scott agrees. “We should probably go, I’d say - the other alphas might come back.”

“Probably not,” Isaac says, and Scott nearly jumps.

“Hey, you’re not dead either!” Stiles says, grinning. 

“Nah,” Isaac smirks. “Not gonna happen, my friend.”

Scott can’t help but zoom in on his bloody hands.

“How many did you kill?” Stiles says, noticing the same thing.

“A few,” Isaac replies. “The others bolted right away - not a big sense of packship amongst this group, that’s for sure.”

His off-handed tone makes Scott feel a little uneasy, but Stiles nods in approval.

“Think we’re all about to head out,” Stiles says, nodding behind him. Boyd and Erica step out the front door, Boyd’s arm around Erica’s shoulder while she keeps him upright with an arm around his waist.

Erica turns stunned eyes on Scott. “You came after us.”

“Of course,” Scott says. “Just because we’re not pack doesn’t mean we aren’t allies.”

“You’re bleeding,” Stiles squints, patting Erica’s shoulder. She doesn’t even wince; she looks at Boyd, who nods, and she steps away from him. Boyd sways slightly but remains upright. 

“Thanks, Batman,” she says, and she doesn’t miss Stiles sending Scott a triumphant look. Scott rolls his eyes, and she laughs under her breath.

“Thanks,” Erica says, now turning to Scott, and to his surprise, she wraps her arms around him. He doesn’t move for a second, but then he reciprocates, one brief squeeze, and lets her go. She steps back and kisses Stiles’ cheek, hugging him, too.

“We may not share an alpha,” she says, looking back and forth between them, “but that doesn’t mean we’re not pack.”

Scott takes the correction in stride, and he smiles at her before offering his hand to Boyd. He steps back with Stiles, letting Isaac move in front of them.

“You guys are both assholes,” he tells Erica and Boyd immediately.

“Not our fault,” Erica returns. “You know we wouldn’t have left without you unless we had no choice.”

“I know,” Isaac says. He smiles. “So why don’t I get a thanks?”

“You were kind of obligated to come,” Boyd tells him. “I think.”

Scott looks back and forth between Erica, Boyd, and Isaac knowingly. “We’ll take a bit of a head start?”

Boyd nods, and Scott gives a mock salute.

“What? Why? Shouldn’t we all go back together?”

“Stiles, man,” Scott says, shaking his head, “maybe I’ll explain it to you on the way.”

*

Erica chuckles as the two walk away, playfully bickering; they don’t move too quickly, staying close enough that they can hear a call for help, but far enough to give Erica, Boyd and Isaac some privacy.

“So,” Boyd says, taking her hand. She intertwines their fingers, then wraps an arm around Isaac.

“So,” she echoes. 

“What now?” Isaac says. 

Boyd looks at Erica. “Kind of figured we’d find a new alpha.”

Isaac follows Boyd’s line of sight, and he nods. “That works for me.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah, man,” Isaac says, kissing the top of her head. “As long as the two of you aren’t too gross when I’m around.”

Erica huffs out a laugh. Still, she knows that things have changed; her hands are no longer clean, none of theirs are, and she can feel Boyd trembling under her touch. Isaac’s eyes are darker than they used to be - more tired, too. Her pack needs to heal. To rest. Somewhere where they can be alone for a while, re-learn each other, re-train in a way that doesn’t leave them with feelings of despondency or frustration. 

She can do that. They can do that, she and her boys.

“So,” she says. “You up for a little walk?”

*

Stiles insists on going back to his house rather than Scott’s, because it’s more likely that his father would be gone than Scott’s mom. Scott’s cool with that, because he’s more than fine with being alone with Stiles - while they have spent a lot of time together lately, just them, there hasn’t been any time since - well. The aspect of learning Stiles in a whole new way (and Stiles him) makes him shudder, and he runs so fast that he almost misses Stiles yelling at him to slow down.

They sleep in bursts, little naps that give them just enough to keep going (or rather, gives Stiles enough) because both of them quietly understand that being in the woods isn’t exactly the best spot for what they’re planning.

Finally, they’re ten minutes away, and Scott spits out the “see, told you we could get them back,” that he’s been holding in for the past twelve hours.

“Ugh,” Stiles says in response. “Good for you. So you were right about something that ended up saving two of our friends’ lives. I bet you’re so proud of yourself.”

“Just a little,” Scott says, and he finds himself reaching out and taking Stiles’ hand. Stiles pretends to moan and baw, but he doesn’t pull away; when Scott looks over, there’s a pleased little smile on Stiles’ face.

To their chagrin, Sheriff Stilinski’s car is in the driveway, and Stiles wonders out loud if they should try Scott’s house, but the sheriff is already opening the front door.

“I don’t even want to know where you two have been,” Sheriff Stilinski says, shaking his head as he takes in their dirt-covered faces; his eyes drift down to their entwined hands. “I do not want to know.”

“Cool,” Stiles says brightly. “You probably don’t want to.”

“Lacrosse?” Scott says, suddenly wanting to be anywhere but Stiles’ house. (Although he’s kind of hoping that Stiles understands that lacrosse isn’t actually on the table.)

“Yep,” Stiles nods, understanding, and he takes off up the stairs to grab his lacrosse stick.

Sheriff Stilinski eyes Scott. “So.”

“Uh,” Scott says.

“You and Stiles.”

“Um. Yes. Wait, how did you - how did - I guess so.”

“I’m a parent, kid. And you guess so?”

“I mean, yes. No guessing?”

“Hmm,” Sheriff Stilinski says. “So - lacrosse means -”

“ _Lacrosse_!” Scott says, a little horrified, and he finds himself taking a few steps backwards. “It’s just lacrosse. I swear.”

The corner of Sheriff Stilinski’s mouth twitches at Scott’s weak protest. “Right.”

Where the fuck is Stiles? Where the _fuck _is Stiles?__

__“Well, you guys have fun,” the sheriff says. “Maybe consider a shower when you get home?”_ _

__“I hate you,” Scott says, a little too honestly at the moment, and the sheriff simply laughs before he heads into the kitchen._ _

__“What’s up?” Stiles says as he thunders down the stairs, his stick over his shoulder._ _

__“Your dad sucks, that’s what’s up,” Scott says. “I think he kind of gave me the talk.”_ _

__“...he knows?”_ _

__Scott smirks, a little painfully. “Pretty sure.”_ _

__“Huh,” Stiles says. “I didn’t even think he’d believe me if I told him.”_ _

__Scott can’t even begin to imagine how that conversation would begin. (He really doesn’t want to, either.) “Just so you know, lacrosse may be ruined forever now.”_ _

__“Eh?” Stiles says. He grins. “Maybe I can find a way to change that for you?”_ _

__“Ah.”_ _

__“Yeah.”_ _

__“I’m not listening!” Sheriff Stilinski yells from the kitchen, and Scott feels his face flush._ _

__“Hate you!” Stiles yells back, but he shrugs, and in a quieter voice, adds: “maybe we should forgo the show and take that shower?”_ _

__The door to the backyard opens and slams, and Scott winces at the sound._ _

__“Your dad has wolverine hearing, you know that?”_ _

__“Comic Wolverine or the land-dwelling carnivore?”_ _

__Scott closes his eyes briefly. “It’s a good thing I know you well enough already, so can we just skip to the shower?”_ _

__Stiles grins. “Think so,” he says, his fingers trailing up to unbutton Scott’s shirt._ _


End file.
